


Under the Waters

by Chichirinoda



Category: Baccano!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-19
Updated: 2009-08-19
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:57:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chichirinoda/pseuds/Chichirinoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dallas is recovered after a very long time under water, and isn't unchanged by his experience. Luck is obligated by an ancient promise to take care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Waters

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) for the prompt "Mind Control/Amnesia".

The call came in at about 3:00 on Wednesday afternoon.

His personal assistant, Sandra, buzzed Luck's intercom as soon as he'd finished a rather dull conference call on the subject of the latest slot machines available for their casino in Vegas. They were all the rage, and the word on the street was that they couldn't even be hacked. Luck had ordered one to try it out.

He'd see what Czeslaw said about them - if even _he_ couldn't hack them, then Luck would buy.

He tapped the button and addressed his personal assistant, standing up to stretch his back. "Yes?"

"Sir, we've just received a call from KMS Construction," Sandra began.

"Who?" The name didn't ring a bell. Had Gandor Industries contracted with someone new? It was getting harder and harder to keep abreast of all aspects of his business.

"They're doing some work on the Brooklyn Bridge, Mr. Gandor," Sandra said. "So I hear."

Sandra was usually more efficient than this. "What does that have to do with me?" Luck asked, letting a tinge of impatience enter his tone. He was a busy man, CEO of an ever-growing empire _supposedly_ founded by his grandfather back in the twenties.

A grandfather he'd been lovingly named after, of course. Immortality got more complicated the richer and more successful one got, he'd found. While he could lie about his name to most people, he preferred to just go by his real name and had done so all along, hoping for the best.

"Well, sir, they called us because they dredged something up. Something with your name on it. They said it was some kind of barrel or steel drum."

For a second Luck stared blankly out the window, wondering what could possibly have his name on it. His office had once had a spectacular view of the World Trade Centre. Now he had a glorious ocean view. It was an improvement, but as he racked his brain he scarcely saw it.

Then he knew.

"Call him back," he said abruptly , his voice snapping like electricity. "Tell him if he opens that container we will pursue _aggressive_ legal action. Then call my brothers and tell them to get their asses on planes immediately."

"Your brothers, sir? But it's the middle of the night where Keith Gandor is."

Oh right, Keith was in Taiwan, negotiating a sale of parts for one of their subsidiaries. Components for a PDA that would blow the iPod Touch out of the water, supposedly. Luck was sceptical, and was hanging onto his Macintosh shares. But Kieth was somewhat better at adapting to new technology than his brothers, so who knew?

"Wake him up," Luck said, grabbing his coat. He'd stopped wearing a hat with reluctance, and still felt a bit nude without it, especially on drizzly days like today. But he had a car, and an umbrella.

He was still giving orders when he emerged from his office a moment later. "Arrange flights for both of them, and get the name Firo Prochenzo out of my rolodex. Call his cell and find out if he can tear himself away and get here as well. If not, get him to call me as soon as he can."

Sandra was frantically taking notes. "Anything else, sir?" she asked, eyes wide with shock and curiosity.

"Yes, call me on my cellphone when you've done all that. I might have more to give you," Luck replied.

"Yes, sir. Where are you going?"

"I'm going down there," Luck said, punching the button for the elevator.

"What on Earth is in that barrel?" Sandra asked meekly. Luck had hired her in part for her way of _not_ asking questions, but apparently everyone had a breaking point. The elevator chimed as the doors opened.

Luck hesitated for a moment, then flashed his secretary a thin-lipped, but charming, mysterious smile. A gangster smile. "Oh, probably it's filled to the brim with moonshine. If it's what I think it is, it was sunk during Prohibition."

The elevator's chime as the doors closed drowned out any further questions she might have asked.

~ ~ ~

The barrel was rusted through in places, but the tiny holes didn't permit anyone to see inside, even with the aid of a flashlight. Walking up the pier towards them, Luck observed this fact in the glimpse he caught before the gathered construction workers hastily put their penlights away.

The foreman detached himself from the group and met him halfway.

"Luck Gandor, right? I saw you on 60 Minutes. What do you want us to do with your...your barrel, sir? It _is_ yours, right?" he finished doubtfully. "It looks pretty old."

Luck didn't stop walking until he was right next to the drum. Some fool had used spray paint and written 'Property of Luck Gandor' on the side. The words were faded, but legible. He recalled being very angry about it at the time. If he'd known who it was who had done it, he'd probably have shot them in the head, but now he was grateful.

"Luck was also my grandfather's name," he said absently. "Of course anything that was his belongs to our family, so it was good that you called me." Thank goodness Don Runorata was long dead so Luck really could make this claim. That would have been a whole _other_ complication.

The foreman looked a little flustered. "Of...of course!" he said hastily. "That's why we called ya right away, Mr. Gandor."

A van pulled up at that moment, emblazoned with the logo of a television news station.

"Apparently I wasn't the _only_ one you called," Luck said ironically. The foreman had the grace to flush, and didn't try to deny it.

"All right," Luck said, speaking quickly and addressing the whole group as the camera crew moved towards them. "Who has a pick-up truck and would be willing to drive this back to my house in exchange for five-hundred dollars?"

There were several volunteers and Luck picked the steadiest-looking one. Not that he thought much more damage could be done to Dallas Genoard at this point, but Luck didn't want any spectacular traffic accidents increasing the newsworthiness of this incident.

"Good, now the rest of you can each have a hundred bucks if you keep those reporters off my back. You can each have another hundred in a week if I don't see any pictures of that barrel in the news or on the internet by then, all right?" he went on as men began scrambling to bring the truck and a crane to load the heavy drum into it.

Luck's tone heavily implied that leaking any photos _after_ that money was handed out would bring dire consequences.

"Yes, sir, don't you worry, sir," the foreman gushed breathlessly. "We'll keep things quiet."

"Sure you will," Luck said companionably, patting the man on the shoulder. "Don't worry, my friend, the Gandor family has a _long_ memory." He was satisfied to see the man blanch. Things were trickier now that he couldn't enforce his wishes with a gun, but even now that he'd gone straight, Luck Gandor still very much had the touch.

Most of the group ran interference with the reporters while Luck supervised the loading of his precious cargo into a beat-up old Ford that looked about as old as Luck was. Then he headed for his own car to lead the way.

"Give me a call if you find any more," he called to the foreman as he strode away.

"There might be _more_?!" the foreman shouted back, astounded.

"I swear to God, I hope not," Luck muttered under his breath, then slid into the driver's seat of his Maserati Quattroporte and started the engine, waiting for the weighed-down truck to fall in behind him before pulling away.

Sandra called when he was halfway to say she hadn't gotten ahold of Firo or Keith yet. He considered telling her to call everyone else he knew who was immortal but held off for now. Maiza and Czes would surely hear from Firo once the younger man found out. There was no point in rousing the whole world over this, either.

Then Berga called only seconds after he had hung up the phone.

"Which one is it?" Berga asked grumpily, without even a hello.

"Dallas," Luck said, one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding his phone to his ear.

"He alive?"

"Who knows, after all this time?" Luck sighed.

"Can't ya _tell_?" Berga exclaimed.

"Well he's not screaming and banging on the inside of the container anymore, Berga, so it's hard to know for sure," Luck said shortly.

"Wait, if you haven't opened it yet, how do ya know it's the Genoard kid and not one of his cronies?" Berga asked in confusion.

"Because it's got my name on it," Luck said. "The other two say Keith and Berga, remember?"

A beat. "Oh, right. I wish I couldda squeezed the neck of whichever wise guy decided to do that."

"When's your flight?"

"I've got a red-eye tonight. Goddamn kid's gonna make sure I don't sleep tonight."

"This isn't exactly Dallas' fault, Berga," Luck said with patient amusement.

"Every goddamn thing is his fault." Same old Berga. He hadn't changed in eighty years. "You heard from Keith yet?" Berga went on.

"Not yet. It's the middle of the night where he is."

"You gonna tell the others?"

"I've got a call in to Firo. Word will get around, I guess," Luck sighed.

"Ya should have just dropped him back in the water," Berga growled.

"I still might. Do you need me to pick you up from the airport?"

"Nah, I'll get a cab. Don't wait up for me, Luck."

"I won't. See you soon, Berga."

"See ya."

The line clicked off and a few minutes later Luck pulled into the driveway in front of the mansion now owned by the Gandor family. He stepped out of his car and directed the truck into the home maintenance bay in the garage, where he had a hoist that should be able to get the barrel out of the truck bed and onto the ground.

As he did so, he couldn't help looking up at the house with a queer feeling. It had been heavily rebuilt and expanded since the 1930s, but the main part of the house was largely original.

That portion of the house should be familiar to Dallas, since it had once belonged to his family.

"Do you want me to crack it open for you, Mr. Gandor?" the construction worker asked eagerly once they had managed, with difficulty, to lift it down to the floor of Luck's massive garage.

"No, thank you," Luck said, pulling out his wallet and peeling off a few bills to pay the man. "I can handle it from here."

Luck was quite certain from the way the man's face fell that he was hoping to see what was inside, but Luck politely but firmly steered him out of the house and waited for the sounds of the truck motor to fade away before making any further move.

As he waited, he regarded the steel drum contemplatively. How the hell was he going to get Dallas out of there? Well, he'd figure it out. He had resources.

He went into the maintenance locker and found a large axe, a crowbar and the largest drill he could find, then he returned to the barrel.

He hefted the axe, then hesitated. "Dallas?" he called out. "Dallas Genoard?"

There was no response.

"Well, if you can hear me, brace yourself," Luck said, and swung the axe. It bit deeply into the rusted steel, and he pulled back to swing again. Foul water gushed out of the hole, filling the room with a cloying scent of rot and brine. Luck held his breath and kept swinging.

After punching holes all around just above the concrete, he began using the crowbar to widen the holes and finally managed to rip the top half of the drum right off.

What he saw and smelled sent him stumbling backwards, crowbar falling from nerveless fingers before his hand shot upwards to cover mouth and nose as his gorge rose.

Dallas wasn't recognizable. His upper body and head were grey and diseased-looking. Scraps of clothing were all that was left covering a wasted and rotting body. Much of his flesh had been eaten away, either by the water or by what tiny fish and other ocean life could get through the small holes in the drum. Of course, his lower body was curled up and still encased in solid concrete in a rusted metal shell.

Luck stood for a few seconds, trying to collect himself and gather the will to look at the body of the poor kid he'd done this to. Finally, he was able to lift his head and approach Dallas' body again.

He knew that the immortality serum was supposed to preserve life under any circumstances. Luck had seen people's heads crushed or their whole bodies blown up, and they'd still lived. He himself had taken a bullet to the brain on more than one occasion, and had once been subject to a drive-by shooting that riddled his body with holes and ruined his coat completely, leaving him without a scratch.

But eighty years underwater had put that serum to the test, and it seemed Dallas had lost. He showed no signs of life.

Luck heaved a sigh and picked up the axe again. He chopped at the lower half of the drum, working up a sweat, and then pried at the rusted metal with the crowbar, peeling it away from the concrete underneath. By the time he'd pulled most of it away, his hands were bloodied and the axe was dull.

He tossed the axe aside and glanced down at his hands, watching his palms soak up the blood and regrow skin until they were perfect and whole again.

At that moment, Dallas coughed and vomited, expelling a few pints of water from his mouth and nose. The ropes holding his hands close to his chest had long ago rotted away and his fingers began to spasm and twitch, his whole body shaking as skin knitted and muscle regrew.

Dallas was healing. After all that time, the poor bastard _still_ wasn't dead.

Now it was a race. Luck grabbed the heavy-duty drill and fired it up. He bored into the concrete until his drill bit hit soft flesh, then pulled out again, over and over until the concrete cracked and fell away in great chunks.

Finally he threw the drill aside and grabbed Dallas under the arms, pulling and heaving until he came free of the concrete in a great crackle of bone and tearing of flesh, leaving a few layers of skin and his rotted leather spats behind. His feet and legs healed as he watched, bits of skin flying out of the hole in the concrete and knitting with the rest of Dallas' body.

Luck lifted the still-twitching body into his arms and carried him towards the door. Dallas' eyes flickered and opened, looking up at Luck. The former gangster tensed, sure Dallas would panic at the first sight of him, but he didn't seem to have quite recovered yet - there was no recognition in his foggy gaze.

"Please," Dallas croaked. "Help me." And then his brown eyes rolled up in his head and he went limp in Luck's arms again.

"I'll try," Luck said softly.

After stowing Dallas in one of the guest bedrooms - and securely locking him in - Luck went into his bedroom. His muscles ached, and he wanted to sleep for a week, but he knew that it was purely psychological. He moved straight to his dresser.

A framed photograph, yellowed with age and taken in the days before colour film, was hung discreetly on the wall above it. The photo was folded and well-loved, and depicted a young girl carefully posed in a chair, and a teenage boy standing sullenly behind her.

Luck swung the frame aside to reveal a safe, so small he'd had to have it custom built. In seconds, he'd unlocked it and he reached inside. Under a pile of illegal passports in various names was a single white envelope, containing a sheet of paper. He took the envelope out and pulled out the well-creased sheet, even though he had the contents memorized.

 _I, Eve Genoard, being of sound mind and body, do write this last will and testament to be read after my death._

 _I leave all of my worldly possessions including my house and contents, to Luck Gandor on the condition that should my brother, Dallas Genoard ever be found, that he will use any means he has at his disposal to care for Dallas and ensure that he comes to no further harm, to the best of his ability. Should Dallas be found, he will come into ownership of half of the house and contents, and should Luck Gandor not fulfil his condition, full ownership will revert to Dallas._

 _Signed and witnessed, Eve Genoard._

He read it over, then folded it up and pushed it to the back of the safe, closed it, and let his fingers run lightly over the glass that covered the old photograph. He had been unable to believe it when Eve Genoard died back in '65, still a young woman, but heartsick and frail, and he had been contacted by her lawyer to say that he had been named in her will.

He'd nearly had a stroke when he heard what she had left him, and the conditions.

Of course, it had been a boon. The Gandors had been coming up in the world - the _legitimate_ business world - and the old house had been feeling more and more cramped. The house had been perfect for their needs, even if there really had been no money left in the Genoard family.

And surely if Dallas hadn't been found in over thirty years, he never would be.

As the years continued to pass, Luck had made the house his own, expanded it, grown even more successful. He had lived here with various women - and men - from time to time. The men tended to last longer, but be more discreet. None of them had ever learned of his secret. And that took a toll.

He had never thought that Dallas would come back into his life. Never thought that he would have to fulfil a promise made to a woman long dead. He could only assume that Eve left that condition to him only because she had no one else to entrust it to.

It made sense, in a twisted way. Luck had been one of the gangsters who put her brother in the river, but Eve had forgiven him for that long ago. He was also the only person who satisfied three criteria: he knew Dallas' secret, he would still be alive no matter how long it took, and he could be guilted into agreeing to her condition.

Certainly Berga and Keith had never learned of the condition in the will. They thought Luck had bought the house at an estate sale, congratulated him on the good buy, and left it at that. While there were other immortals, Eve only knew of the three of them, and none of the others had the connection to her and Dallas that the Gandor brothers did.

No, it had been a logical choice. Twisted, but logical.

Luck shook his head and left the bedroom, went to Dallas' door and listened for a moment, then unlocked it and let himself in. Dallas was still lying on the bed in the exact position Luck had left him, the slow rise and fall of his chest the only sign of life. His skin was pale still, but no longer the fishy, corpse-like grey it had been before.

It couldn't be long now before he woke up. It never took long for an immortal to heal, and Dallas would surely have questions when he awakened.

Luck moved closer and awkwardly worked the blanket out from under the young man. His clothing had literally rotted off his body and Luck pulled a few sad scraps of remaining fabric away, tossing them onto the floor with a look of disgust. A bit of dark fluid had leaked from one of Dallas' ears, and Luck drew out a handkerchief and wiped it away. Then he drew the blankets up over Dallas and stood for a moment, regarding him.

What the hell was he going to do with him?

Eve had stipulated that Luck should take care of Dallas, but Luck well remembered the cocky, violent, spoiled little rich boy that Dallas had been. He doubted that eighty years in a steel drum had imparted much wisdom to him, though it had undoubtedly been traumatic. Worse, since Luck had been the man to put Dallas in the drum in the first place, he doubted that Dallas would be inclined to listen to much that Luck had to say.

Even as he stood there, trying to figure out what to do, Dallas' eyes flickered again and he opened them with a sigh. He looked around groggily, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion, and then his eyes landed on Luck.

Luck held his breath, waiting for panic to hit, or at least an explosion, but none came. Dallas looked up at him worriedly.

"Where am I?"

Well, that was an easy enough question. Luck grabbed a chair and drew it close to the side of the bed, wary but not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. If Dallas were inclined to talk and ask questions, it was easy enough to answer them. "You're in your house, Dallas. It's changed a lot since you were last here, but it's your house."

"Dallas?" the young man said. "Is...that my name?"

"What?" Luck drew back jerkily, startled by the question. Of all he had expected to hear, that had not been it. "Yes, yes of course it is. Your name is Dallas Genoard."

"Oh." Dallas' fingers curled in the sheets, white-knuckling as his confusion began to give way to fear. "I don't remember. I don't remember anything. Who are you?"

"I'm Luck Gandor. I'm--" He paused. The last thing Dallas needed to hear right now was that he was sharing a house with the gangster who'd caused his amnesia in the first place. Besides, it had to be temporary.

Right?

There was no need to explain. Either it was better for Dallas not to know, or he would remember for himself anyway. "It's complicated," he finished lamely. "But enough about me. How are you feeling - other than the memory issue?"

"I'm a little dizzy," Dallas said, leaning his head back against the pillow. "And my head aches, but I feel all right other than that. I'm _hungry_ , too. Do you think I could get something to eat? What happened to me?" Luck was amazed by how congenial he seemed. Was this the Dallas that Eve had known and loved?

"You were...sick, for a long time," Luck lied as smoothly as he could manage. He was a good liar, but he really hadn't been expecting to have to come up with an explanation like this. "In a coma. That might be why you can't remember anything. I'll get you something to eat right now."

Though the lies had come out a little awkwardly, Dallas seemed to accept them, and he smiled. "Thanks, Mr. Gandor - I mean... should I call you Luck? Is this your house, too?"

"It's my house, I've lived here for many years," Luck said, turning towards the door and frowning faintly. "You can call me Luck, of course. There's no need for us to be formal."

"Of course," Dallas said. "Because we live together, right?"

Luck paused, hand on the doorknob. "Right," he said.

"And you're not a servant, or anything," Dallas asked hopefully. "Or a member of my family?"

Luck shook his head, chuckling softly. "No, Dallas." He glanced back at the younger man. "I own this house, and have for many years. And so do you. But I'm not related to you by blood."

"I see," Dallas said in a confused tone, and Luck took the opportunity to escape, closing and locking the door behind him once more.

He headed to the kitchen, fielded more calls from Keith and his secretary, and then as he was finishing off a huge platter containing nearly everything he could pull out of the fridge, his phone rang again. This time, it was Firo Prochenzo.

"Firo, I suppose you've figured out why I called," Luck said, juggling the platter and his cellphone at the same time.

"I figured," Firo said. "Is Dallas all right?"

"He's forgotten everything - he doesn't even know who he is," Luck said, shaking his head. "Have you ever heard of something like that?"

"Never."

"Can you do me a favour? Talk to Maiza - and, for that matter, Czeslaw. See if either of them have ever heard of an immortal being affected by an injury after it was healed. If any of us might know, they would."

"I'll ask," Firo said carefully. "Luck, are you all right?"

Luck blinked. "Fine, why do you ask?"

"No reason. It's just been a long time since any of us thought about Dallas Genoard," Firo said quietly. "Eve left you that house, didn't she?"

"She did," Luck replied guardedly. He had told Firo about the will once, though he had left out the information about the condition. Firo had a way of drawing him out that he both loved and despised.

"What are you going to do with Dallas if he doesn't remember anything?"

"I haven't decided yet. Probably the same thing I'll do if he _does_ remember," Luck said. "Do you think you'll be able to get here?"

"I don't know," Firo said. "My schedule's pretty tight. But you'll have your brothers, won't you? What do you need me for?"

"Not for your prowess with a knife," Luck said ironically. "I just... Well, I suppose there's no need," he finished briskly.

"Luck... if you want company, just ask," Firo said, his smile obvious in his tone.

Luck's reply was decisive. "I don't want company. And I can handle Dallas. Call me when you know anything." He felt foolish for having roused all of the troops for a situation that was turning out to be more domestic than anything else. Why did Berga and Keith need to come here to help him deal with a helpless brat hardly out of his teens? He was of half a mind to call them back and tell them not to come.

"All right, well you know where to find me if you need to reach me, Luck."

"Thank you, Firo," Luck said warmly, then closed the phone and carried the tray up to Dallas' room. When he managed to open the door he entered to find Dallas fast asleep on the bed, so dead to the world that even when Luck called his name a few times, he didn't rouse.

Luck sighed and set the tray down, then lowered himself into the chair. He'd just wait here until Dallas woke up, then.

~ ~ ~

Somehow, Luck must have dozed off, because the next thing he recalled hearing was a whimper. His eyes flew open and he lifted his head, rubbing a crick in his neck from the uncomfortable chair. The sun had long ago set and the room was dark except for the glow of the city that never quite disappeared. He reached out and switched on the bedside lamp, bathing the room in a warm yellow glow.

Dallas shifted in the bed restlessly. A hand reached out, clawing at the air, and he whimpered again, a lost, helpless sound.

Luck rose from the chair and sat down at the edge of the mattress. "Dallas," he murmured. "Dallas, it's a dream."

He reached out and smoothed a lock of curly, sandy-blond hair back from the man's forehead. It was longer than he remembered, uneven and ragged, but curling around his shoulders. As Luck stroked his hair, Dallas slowly quieted and fell into a deeper sleep.

Luck gazed down at the young man, thinking about the question Firo had asked him - a question he had been asking himself all day. What was he going to do now?

He stared at his right hand, resting on Dallas' forehead. It would be so easy to just eat him. No mess remaining, not even a body to dispose of. Dallas would be gone forever, and Luck might not even have to experience his memories, if they were truly gone.

It would be _so_ easy...

Dallas opened his eyes and looked up at Luck, smiling in an uncertain way. "Luck?"

"Dallas," Luck murmured, his fingers curling into the younger man's hair, palm resting on his forehead. Dallas gazed up at him with such nave trust, unaware of the danger he was in.

Luck steeled himself. All he had to do was will himself to do it, and then it would be over for both of them. No one would ever know--

A thump of footsteps outside the door was the only warning before it flew open and Berga stomped into the room.

"Howdy Luck, how's your boyfriend doing?" Luck's older brother quipped, his face taking on a dangerous cast as he closed with them. But then, Berga generally looked dangerous - he was probably just curious and surprised by the position in which he'd found them. Luck jerked his hand away from Dallas' forehead as if he'd been burned, but Dallas made a soft squeaking sound and grabbed his wrist.

"He's fi... Dallas, this is my older brother, Berga," Luck said hastily. "Berga, Dallas is doing fine, but he doesn't remember _anything_." He held his brother's gaze for a moment, hazel Gandor eyes locking with hazel Gandor eyes.

"Hello, pleased to meet you again, Berga," Dallas said meekly. The fact that he didn't remember who Berga was didn't seem to be making the big man any less intimidating.

Berga's eyes flickered and then widened a little. "Damn, not a thing?"

"No," Luck said. He didn't fight the hold Dallas had on his wrist, but lowered his hand to his lap so it wouldn't be too obvious. "Not yet. How was your flight?"

"Crappy. The service on airlines is going further down the shitter every passing year."

"If we find one on foreclosure, we'll buy a jet," Luck said. "Why don't you just go to bed and get some rest and we'll talk more in the morning. I can handle things here."

Berga's eyebrows rose and his lips twisted faintly. "Yeah, I'm sure ya can. Holler if you need me."

Luck felt Dallas' fingers tighten and he curled his own fingers around Dallas' wrist in return, trying to reassure him. "I will. Good night, Berga."

"Night Luck... Dallas," Berga said, nodding to them both. He turned and left the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

"Luck?" Dallas murmured hesitantly once the sound of Berga's footsteps had died away.

Luck turned towards Dallas, offering him a reassuring smile. He now felt a little shaken that he had been about to eat the other man. Whatever he had done, it was long in the past, he had an obligation at least to see if he had changed before murdering him in cold blood.

Dallas had a thoughtful expression on his face, and he pushed himself up a little, renewing his grip on Luck's wrist. "I understand now. I'm sorry, I didn't get it before. This must be weird for you."

"Weird?" Luck raised an eyebrow. "I suppose it is. What do you mean, Dal--"

Before he could finish the question, Dallas had leaned forward in a rush and captured his mouth in a hasty and slightly sloppy kiss.

Luck tensed for a long moment, too startled to respond, but his body moved on its own. He wrapped his arms around the younger man, noting his lithe, eager body and how well they fit together as Dallas shifted up onto his knees to deepen the kiss. Who knew that Dallas had it in him to be so... congenial?

When they came up for air, Luck was more bemused than shocked. "Dallas... what are you doing?"

Dallas tightened his arms around Luck's neck, though he looked a bit uncertain. "Well, you're my boyfriend, aren't you? I mean, that's what your brother said, and I can't believe I didn't think of it before, since you said we live together. I wish I could remember." He smiled crookedly. "You seem pretty nice. And you're certainly easy on the eyes."

Luck struggled not to show how taken aback he was. How wrong could Dallas be?

But then Dallas was leaning forward a little again and Luck shook his head faintly. He didn't know what to say - anything he could say would be a lie, or would only distress Dallas.

Maybe it was best to go along with this. If Dallas remembered later... well, this wasn't the worst thing Luck had done in his life. Not the worst thing he'd done to _Dallas_ , for that matter.

And if Dallas didn't ever recover his true memories, well, then they'd both have some enjoyable times.

Luck shifted closer and met Dallas' lips halfway this time, pressing the younger man down onto the bed with practiced grace. He wasn't a violent man in bed, but he did tend to have a natural habit of domination. Dallas struggled against it a little, just enough to tell Luck that Dallas was not naturally submissive, but by the time Dallas' head hit the pillow once more, he had grown quiescent under his weight.

"Are you all right?" Luck murmured, bending lower to nuzzle Dallas' neck. The younger man tilted his head back with a gasp,

"Y-yeah... do you think this'll help me remember? I hate that I can't remember you..." Dallas said, a bit of that whine Luck remembered creeping into his voice. If Luck were going to be having Dallas living with him, he'd have to do something about that whine - he'd have to teach him to stand on his own two feet, for one thing. Maybe he'd give him a position in the Gandor business.

He kissed his way down Dallas' throat and left a mark with his teeth that faded seconds later, then realized he'd actually thought about letting _Dallas Genoard_ into the family. So to speak.

The modern age was clearly playing havoc with his mind.

"I don't know why you don't remember," Luck murmured gently, stroking a hand down Dallas' side. "So it's hard to say. But maybe it will."

He hoped it wouldn't.

"I'm sorry I don't remember you," Dallas said roughly, awkwardly. His hands were moving over Luck's shirt, untucking it from his pants, running up his back.

"You don't have to apologize," Luck said, unable to keep a touch of incredulity from his tone. "It's not your fault."

He sat up abruptly and looked down at Dallas, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. He no longer had the urge to eat him - in fact, all he felt right now was a hunger he hadn't felt in a long time. Dallas was so...eager, so innocent without his memories. It pulled at the predator in Luck, and that part of him that wanted to protect as well.

"Are you really going to let me do this?" Luck asked softly. "Even though you don't remember who I am?"

Dallas blinked up at him, and a crooked smirk curved his lips. He reached up and undid Luck's buttons deliberately, holding his gaze as if to make sure Luck didn't miss what he was doing. "I'm not scared of you," he said. "And I have no reason to mistrust what you've said."

Luck arched an eyebrow, then bent and kissed him roughly, letting his hands wander as they may. That was as good an answer as any, after all. If Dallas was sure, who was Luck to dissuade him?

Dallas arched upwards into Luck's wandering hands, gasping softly and squirming under his weight. The younger man pulled off his tie, interrupting the kiss momentarily to pull it over Luck's head.

How eager he was. Luck hadn't been with someone so uninhibited before - did Dallas trust him this much? Most people were intimidated, awed by Luck's reputation and status - or they were trying to get something from him. But Dallas acted as if he _cared_.

It had to be an act. Dallas didn't even know him - he was only grasping at something he believed was real.

Luck nibbled at Dallas' throat, tasting salt. Dallas' hands were everywhere, touching his chest, his stomach, running up and down his back as if to memorize every inch of his body. Or perhaps, to relearn it.

Luck shifted up and shrugged out of his shirt, tossing it aside. Dallas' hands immediately went to his pants, fumbling slightly in haste or nervousness. The younger man's tongue stole out, quickly swiping across his lower lip as he undid Luck's belt.

The older man wished momentarily for a drink, something to quiet the few doubts he felt, but the thought stuttered and vanished as Dallas rubbed the heel of his hand against his erection. Even through the cloth, the sensation was intense, and he threw his head back with a heartfelt groan.

"You sound amazing," Dallas murmured. His hands shook a little as he opened the fly of Luck's pants and drew him out. "You're really...amazing, Luck."

Luck laughed softly and then groaned again as Dallas wrapped his fingers around his cock and began to stroke him slowly. "You don't even know me," he murmured. "How can you tell?"

Dallas shook his head, then shrugged helplessly. "It's a feeling inside," he said. "I feel like I know you. Just looking at you makes my stomach feel all quivery."

 _That's fear, not lust. You just can't remember,_ Luck thought, and bent down, silencing the younger man with a harsh, demanding kiss. Dallas moaned and opened his mouth to Luck's tongue, allowing the intrusion as Luck plundered him.

Dallas groaned and rocked upwards against him, and Luck felt the hardness of his erection even through the blankets covering his nakedness. The older man tugged the blankets down and shifted, lifting up and pulling his own pants off.

He had to shift his weight off of Dallas to do it, but if he'd been worried that the younger man would try to escape, he didn't have anything to worry about. Dallas lay where he was, rubbing two fingers against his right temple as if it pained him, but otherwise looking almost rapturously up at Luck as he disrobed.

"You're really hot," Dallas informed him as Luck finally kicked his pants off the bed and leaned over him once more.

"You're not so bad yourself," Luck replied with faint amusement. "Now, shall we stop messing about and get this done?"

Dallas laughed and wrapped his arms around Luck's neck, tugging him downwards. "Oh yes, please," he said, his brown eyes dancing with mirth. "I don't see any reason to wait."

"Neither do I," Luck murmured, then kissed Dallas again, thrusting his tongue deep into his mouth.

Their hands moved more quickly now, less testing and touching, less exploration, and more stimulation. Dallas rubbed fingers against Luck's nipples until he gasped and squirmed, and Luck returned the torture, rolling Dallas' nipples between his fingers until they peaked and Dallas moaned around the tongue in his mouth.

Luck scarcely gave Dallas a chance to breathe, but that was all right. Neither of them, strictly speaking, needed to. He plundered Dallas' mouth, and plundered his body, rubbing his hand hard down Dallas' side and over his hip, then stroking his cock roughly until Dallas cried out and writhed helplessly under his weight.

He left off only once, rummaging in the side table until he found an old tube of lubricant probably left over from some temporary house guest, months or years before. It was still good, though, and he poured a generous amount into his palm, then looked down at Dallas.

Dallas looked nervous, no doubt about it. The younger man licked his lips again, and touched his right temple, rubbing with the tips of his fingers.

"I'll be gentle," Luck said, sliding lube-slick fingers up the inside of Dallas' thighs and circling his entrance with the tip of his index finger. "As if it were your first time."

And it probably _was_ Dallas' first time. Luck's gaydar hadn't exactly been ringing back in the 1930's, when he'd last seen Dallas.

The trust in Dallas' eyes was astonishing. Luck couldn't imagine that he would be so trusting if he were in Dallas' position, though perhaps his cynicism was learned, not born.

"I know you won't hurt me," Dallas said, and spread his legs a little wider.

Slightly humbled by this staggering pronouncement, Luck smiled and ducked his head faintly, then slid his finger deep inside Dallas' body. The look in Dallas' eyes unfocused and then his eyes rolled back as he groaned, rocking his body upwards again. His eyebrows pinched together slightly, as if he were in some discomfort, but it quickly smoothed away as his body adjusted. Luck curved his finger upwards, seeking that sweet spot inside him.

"Oh god..." Dallas moaned.

"That's right," Luck murmured, preparing him with first just one, and then adding a second finger, slowly stretching him. His own cock was so hard he was aching, but he cupped Dallas' cheek with his free hand, soothing him rather than giving in to the urge to relieve some of the pressure.

At this point, he was afraid if he touched himself at all, he'd lose all semblance of control.

When the last of the tension had smoothed out of Dallas' face and his body was writhing under Luck, three fingers moving easily in and out of his stretched entrance, Luck pulled his fingers free and grabbed Dallas' wrists, pressing them down to the bed. The younger man's eyes flew open as Luck pressed him down with his full weight, settling between Dallas' parted legs and rocking his own hard and weeping cock against his stretched entrance.

"Last chance," Luck murmured, his voice deep and rough with desire. "Tell me you want me, Dallas."

"Oh god," Dallas moaned, rocking upwards as eagerly as a whore against Luck's weight. "I want you so bad, Luck. _Please_ don't fuck with me."

A moan escaped Luck's throat and he bent to plunder Dallas' mouth again, pushing forward and deep into Dallas' body in one smooth, slow thrust.

Dallas cried out against Luck's mouth, the sound muffled slightly but still loud. He writhed and squirmed, his body squeezing around Luck's cock as he pushed forward, inch by inch, until he was seated balls-deep inside Dallas' virgin body.

And dear god, Luck was sure he _was_ a virgin now, if he hadn't been before. He was as tight as if Luck had never stretched him at all, though he was slowly relaxing as Dallas adjusted and accepted the intrusion. Luck stroked his hair, kissed him more gently than before, soothing him. All the while, though, his body trembled slightly with the effort to hold himself back. He ached to thrust hard into Dallas' body, claiming more of that incredible pleasure for himself.

Finally Dallas' whimpers subsided and he began to rock against him, almost whining with growing need. "I...I'm okay," he gasped against Luck's lips. "Please, Luck."

Well, that plea was certainly good enough for Luck. He smirked and drew back, closing his eyes in reaction to the sensations that sparked through him like electrical current. When he thrust forward, Dallas cried out again, but this time in more pleasure than pain. Luck was soon pounding into him, Dallas' body rising to meet each thrust, as both immortals moved together and apart, their pleasure overwhelming any residual pain.

Dallas climaxed first, which was not terribly surprising, considering he hadn't been touched in over eighty years. The younger man arched, his back bending like a drawn bow. He convulsed and screamed as fluid painted his chest in white ropes.

Luck couldn't help but cry out in turn as Dallas' body squeezed rhythmically around his cock. Each squeeze sent an intense jolt of pleasure through Luck, and it was all he could do not to scream as loudly as Dallas had done as the sensations spiralled upwards and tightened like a coil inside him.

As Dallas began to come down from the climax, his body stilling and relaxing under Luck's weight, the older man thrust harder into him, pounding faster and without mercy into the spent body beneath him. Within moments that coiling spring finally snapped and he convulsed as well, a cry bubbling up inside his throat and mercilessly repressed as he spilled himself inside Dallas' body.

The orgasm moved through him quickly and left him limp and gasping as if half-drowned. He dropped downwards onto Dallas, tucking his heated forehead against Dallas' neck as he struggled to remember how to breathe.

Dallas was panting as well, and wrapped his arms lightly around Luck. It seemed to take only moments before his breathing evened out and his hands fell away again.

Luck lifted his head, pushing his sweat-soaked bangs out of his face. Dallas was out like a light, eyes closed and his breathing regular.

Shaking his head at the lack of stamina, Luck shifted up and got to his feet. He wasn't inclined to wake Dallas - nor was he inclined to stay here for the night. He had a perfectly serviceable bed only a few doors down, and that was where he went, stealing down the hall in the nude and thankful that he didn't meet his brother on the way.

Though he wouldn't have admitted it, he was tired as well. No sooner had his head hit the pillow, but he sank deep into dreams.

~ ~ ~

When Luck came downstairs the following morning, freshly showered and fully-dressed, it was to find Berga eating his way through a plate of left-over cold chicken out of the refrigerator. There was no sign of Dallas, and Luck went straight to the coffee machine, relieved that Berga had already made a pot.

"Didn't take ya long," Berga remarked.

"Shut up," Luck said goodnaturedly, pouring himself a cup. "It's your fault, you know. You told him we were boyfriends, and he believed you."

"He's a damned fool, then," Berga said, laughing. "Guess all that time under water didn't change him there."

Luck made a noncommittal sound. "He doesn't remember anything," he said. "Not a blessed thing."

"Do you think he'll ever remember?" Berga asked curiously, twisting in his chair to watch Luck more closely.

Luck shrugged. "I have no idea. I wouldn't have thought it was possible in the first place."

"Me neither," Berga agreed.

"I figure that it creates an opportunity," Luck said. "I'll just have to hope that nothing changes--"

He nearly dropped his cup of coffee as a piercing scream echoed through the house. Luck and Berga exchanged glances as more screams followed the first one. Dallas sounded as if he were being tortured.

Luck set his cup down and strode out of the kitchen, barely managing to keep himself at a fast walk when all of his instincts told him he should race upstairs at top speed. Whatever was happening, he was probably too late already to stop it. Dallas would heal.

Berga was right at his heels, and despite his resolve, Luck did break into a run when he reached the second floor landing. Dallas had stopped screaming, and that seemed even more ominous.

He skidded to a stop at Dallas' door and threw it open.

Dallas was doubled over on the bed, a huge gaping wound in his right temple rapidly closing. A small fish, about the length of Luck's palm lay on the bed, covered in blood and flopping helplessly as it struggled to breathe.

"Dear fucking Christ, what the fuck," Berga snapped when he caught sight of the scene.

Luck was speechless. He couldn't find a single word to say, and he merely stood there, all poise lost, his mouth agape.

The wound closed, the last drop of blood vanishing and the skin knitting. Dallas blinked and looked up.

Recognition hit Dallas like a hammer, and his face contorted with hatred. "Luck Gandor," he snarled, his expression ugly. "I should have known."

Relief that Dallas didn't seem to remember their encounter the night before warred with disappointment that Dallas was apparently back to normal. "Hello, Dallas," Luck said quietly.

A heavy, meaty hand landed on his shoulder and patted him gently. "Well, what are ya gonna do now, loverboy?" Berga muttered with obvious amusement.

"I really have no idea," Luck replied with a sigh.


End file.
